Stuck

            I can’t believe it’s already mid-June. Fuck how time flies. Especially when you’re all wrapped up in your own little world of late, smoky, booze-soaked nights and early mornings and dragging days and black hole naps. This month has been a blur.

Isn’t it funny how you can get so consumed with just making it through the day - each day, every day, day after day after fucking day - that when you finally get around to looking at your life, you realize that it’s passing you by? You’re not growing. You’re not moving forward. You’re not gaining or learning or accomplishing anything. You’re just stuck. In limbo. Waiting for something. And you don’t even know what. Sometimes I feel like I’ve spent my whole life waiting. Like I’ll grow old waiting for something that’s never going to happen, that probably doesn’t even exist. Like I’ll die never even knowing what it is I was waiting for in the first place.

            Sometimes I get sick of waiting. So I dream big dreams and make big plans and talk big shit. About how I’m gonna get out of this place and go make something of myself. So my real life can finally start. How I’m going to find something I’m really good at and get a great job in that field and then get a degree and then get an even better job. And then... well, then I’ll live the good life. I’ll start going out and doing things and make a bunch of new friends.  I’ll have a great place to live and maybe fall in love for the first time. I’ll have enough money to go on vacation and eat at fancy restaurants and get a few pets and decorate my place. I’ll be content. I’ll be comfortable. I’ll be at peace.

But nothing ever comes of it. And in the end, that’s all it ever amounts to – big dreams and a bunch of shit. Sometimes I wonder what it’s going to take for me to wake up, get a grip, and get my fucking shit together. Moving didn’t do it. Getting a DUI didn’t do it. Getting kicked out of college didn’t do it. Burning all my bridges didn’t do it. Dying didn’t do it. Getting committed didn’t do it. Going to treatment didn’t do it. Alienating almost everyone in my entire family didn’t do it. Too many close calls didn't do it. Losing my apartment didn’t do it. And now here I am. New job, new apartment, new friends. And the systematic collapse of another last chance. 

Because despite all the positive things I have going for me, all the good things that have happened to me this last year, and all the potential my life has right now to be wonderful someday, I just can’t seem to work up the motivation or drive or determination to go after the kind of life I really want. I just can’t seem to muster up enough energy to take the steps I would need to take, to get to where I want to be. I just can’t seem to find the strength and courage and endurance to face my issues and work on my problems enough to move on to bigger and better things.

And I honestly don’t know what it’s going to take. Or if anything will ever, ever be enough.

Rotting

            I swear to god, there is something seriously physically wrong with me. I know there is. I’m sure of it. I just don’t know what. I mean I know that most of the time I’m a huge hypochondriac baby, but for once I don’t think this is all in my head. My body is totally deteriorating – and a lot faster than it rightfully should, in my opinion.
            Like this weekend. On Saturday night a few people came over, we all got fucked up and at some point close to dawn, I passed out on the couch. The next morning I was in so much pain I could barely move. Walking hurt, bending hurt, reaching and sitting hurt. I mean, I had to stay in bed for two fucking days because my whole body ached so bad. And it seems to me that a young, resilient, generally healthy twenty-two year old girl like me should not have to become bedridden for days at a time just because she slept on a couch once for a few fucking measly hours. That’s not normal and it pisses me off!
            Not to mention the fact that I’m getting my period literally every two weeks even though I am still using the nuva ring for birth control. It doesn’t make any sense. The bleeding should start when I take the ring out and stop when I put it back in. That’s the way it’s supposed to work. So why isn’t it fucking working?!? I mean, one of the main reasons I even started birth control to begin with was so I could have fewer, shorter, more predictable, more controllable periods. Now they’re worse than ever and that fucking pisses me off too!
            I’m getting headaches all the time. And sporadic throbbing pains throughout my body. And intermittent waves of nausea. Even occasional bouts of projectile vomiting (like last week in front of a bunch of customers and my boss – that was fun) which is weird, because I’m usually not much of a puker. I’ve been noticing my heart arrhythmia acting up a lot more than normal lately and my hot flashes are back with a vengeance. My foot itches so bad all the time I usually end up scratching it till it bleeds and even then it still itches. My back is always tender, my throat is always sore, my crazy blushing is getting progressively worse, and my pee is always dark and smells disgusting even after drinking lots of water. That pisses me off.

In between bouts of queasiness I’ve been binging like there’s no tomorrow. I have never binged like this in my life – it’s never lasted this long or been this extreme. I’ve been having the most intense cravings I’ve ever had in my whole life. And I don’t know how to prevent them or stop them or get rid of them without satisfying them. So I do. Even though I don’t want to. And that really, really fucking pisses me off.

            I know I’ve been under a lot of stress lately, which could be part of why I feel like shit. Everything either sends me into a violent rage or makes me jump up and down with joy or makes me curl up under the covers and sob uncontrollably for hours. I’ve been spending money like crazy and not keeping track of it. I’ve been a little short with people and kind of awol from the world, so most of my relationships are strained. I’m getting increasingly awkward and paranoid and anxious. Things are up in the air with my job as usual and I live in constant fear that I am going to get fired any second and for the life of me, I can’t tell if it’s a legitimate fear or if it’s just me being irrational. I’ve been so wrapped up in drinking and hanging out with people I barely know that I haven’t had time to get anything worthwhile -  anything of even moderate importance - done for weeks like my laundry or my studying or my jigsaw puzzle. I haven’t paid bills or made appointments or returned calls or run errands. And now it’s all starting to pile up and I’ve ruined everything and it’s all my fault because I’m a worthless stupid fat piece of shit. And that pisses me off the most.
            I know it’s not just stress. It’s something. And I don’t even care about getting better or getting healthy or getting treated. I just want to know what it is. I want to know what’s going on. I want to get some kind of test done, as many tests as necessary, just to finally know for sure. I want a nurse or doctor or someone, anyone, to believe me that things aren’t okay in my body, that I’m breaking down, that I’m withering away. I want someone to listen to me. I want someone to care. But nobody does. And that actually doesn't piss me off. Because I don't blame them.

Not one tiny bit.